


Unbreakable

by AndSheWrites



Series: Unbreakable [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Spoilers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friendship, Healing, Hope, Hydra (Marvel), Love, Redemption, S.H.I.E.L.D., Smart but Flawed Heroine, Strategic Scientific Reserve, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-06-07 13:22:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6806632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndSheWrites/pseuds/AndSheWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bethany Hale, a privileged young woman from Manhattan, learns the meaning of unconditional love, loyalty and perfect friendship, in the most unlikely of places.  Everything she believes in will be tested.   Even the strongest hearts are not unbreakable.</p><p>This will be a reimagining of the Captain America story we all know and love, from 1930's Brooklyn to current events, and will include an assortment of new characters along with the old favorites.   It begins in the 1930's, following Beth as her once 'normal' life becomes irreversibly intertwined with her childhood friends', as Beth herself says, "For better or for worse."   There are a lot of changes to the MCU storyline, I have no desire to rehash the scripts, but be aware that there will be ***Major Spoilers*** for all of the Captain America films, including Civil War, the Avenger movies, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D, etc. Please do not read if you haven't seen them all. </p><p>I've rated this 'Mature' because of possible future depictions of violence, language and other adult situations.</p><p>Comments and (gentle) critique are always welcome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

Now  
Wakanda

 

“Neuroscience is not my area of expertise, Your Highness.”

The room was sleek, modern and sterile; almost too bright compared to the dark, foreboding labs I had become accustomed to. He looked so serene behind the glass, as if at any moment he might open those stunning blue eyes. But what would he see? The girl he’d known most of his life, the scientist who had participated — however unwittingly, in ruining it, or worse; no one at all.

“I knew that much,” T’Challa said, turning his solemn, dark eyes to me. “But as you can see, there is something that you can do for him. Something that is your area of expertise.”

“Yes,” I answered after a moment. I realized I had been staring through the glass, silently holding my breath. My mind had partitioned; compartmentalizing pain, grief and hope separately from The Scientist, who was already drafting plans for improvements.

“I can hear the wheels turning,” he said, his vague amusement obvious in his tone. “Then your answer is yes?”

“When can I start?” I asked, meeting his gaze in the reflection in the glass.

——

 

 

July, 1932  
Manhattan

  
“Della, they won’t even notice I’m gone,” I insisted. My voice had pitched higher in desperation. Della who had been my nanny since I was born, who had been more of a mother to me than the woman who had birthed me, was leaving. An emergency at home had forced her to choose between her employment and family, but I was not willing to be abandoned so easily. “Mother is in Boston, and Father never comes home while she’s away. Just take me with you. Please.”

“Sweetheart. Your parents would kill me if they found out,” Della said, her smile both kind and regretful. She was not a classically attractive woman, but she had a winning smile, perfect pin curls, and enough charisma to tame my mother’s moods, even at her worst.

“Dell, it’s Brooklyn, not Timbuktu!” I insisted.

“I… don’t know where that is, but as far as your mother is concerned, Brooklyn is the last place you ought to be,” Della said, but I could see her resolve wavering. How could one raise a child for thirteen years and not feel some sort of motherly connection? It was a card that I was not ashamed to play.

“The last place I ought to be is in this house alone,” I answered reasonably. “Or with some other nanny from god knows where, who doesn’t know a thing about me.”

Della pursed her lips, a hand resting on a hip as she regarded me. “Troublesome girl.”

I smiled brightly and dashed up the stairs for an overnight bag.

Brooklyn! I couldn’t wait for the change of scenery. I would get to meet the family Della talked so fondly about; her rapscallion brother and her outspoken, but saintly mother. The neighbors that sounded both delightful and bothersome at the same time. The kids who played in the streets until dark, and didn’t mind at all if they got their clothes dirty or their knees scraped.

It never occurred to me that it wasn’t my world, and my prim summer dresses and polished, buckled shoes would stand out horribly, and that no matter what a grand adventure I thought it might be, I would never, ever fit in.

The children inexplicably hated me. They stared at me, snickered and called me names, often tripping me ‘accidentally’ when I walked past them. My gestures of friendship were most often ignored, and after a handful of days at Della’s building, I was ready to go home.

That was until I met a boy who was picked on even more.

  
I was walking from the small grocery store back to Della’s when I heard the scuffle. A part of me had warned against getting involved; everyone in this neighborhood seemed tougher, stronger and more resourceful. I clutched the paper bag to my chest, preparing to walk past the alley, but my insufferable curiosity would not allow it. I peeked. There, at the end of the alley were a group of boys about my age, taking turns shoving what appeared to be a much younger boy. To his credit, the small kid was staying on his feet, despite a bloodied lip and angry bruise forming beneath his eye.

“Hey, cut it out!” I yelled. Where had that come from? And what did I plan on doing if they decided to turn their aggression toward me? I was about to find out.

“Beat it!” one of the bullies yelled, while another yelled, “Scram!”

“I will not,” I said, in the tone Della often used to reprimand unruly kids in the neighborhood. “Unhand him this second.”

“You got yourself a girlfriend, Rogers?” the biggest of the boys chided. He had a hold of the smallest boy’s collar, his fist pulled back and ready to swing. “Ain’t that sweet? And she’s a fancy one too, ain’t she?”

“Ya kissed ‘er yet, Rogers?” one of the others chimed in, giggling.

“Just go away,” the boy they called “Rogers” said to me, his one eye, not swollen shut was sincere and brave, and there was no way I was allowing them to beat him to a pulp.

I puffed up, dropping my paper bag on the sidewalk. I can still remember the purposeful click of my shoes on the alley floor as I approached.

“Oh ho! You need a girl to fight your battles for you, hey Stevie?” the biggest bully taunted.

“No,” I said, with bravery I didn’t know I possessed. “It’s my battle too.”

I was not a fighter, and couldn’t have thrown a punch if my life had depended on it, but I wasn’t going to let that deter me. With all the anger that had welled up in me in my thirteen meager years of existence, I drew my foot back and kicked as hard as I could, connecting with the oldest boy’s shin with a sickening thud. He dropped Rogers on the ground, and the small young man scrambled to his feet, fists raised to defend himself from the fight that was sure to come.

“You… broke my leg!” the bully shrieked, dramatically. His friends looked on, doubtfully, unsure whether to pick up their friend, or protect their own shins.

I lunged at one of them, and was strangely satisfied that he took a step back. He might not have been truly frightened, but he was concerned enough to take the defensive.

“You don’t have to fight for me,” Rogers said, stubbornly.

“I’m not. I’m fighting _with_ you,” I told him.

  
While their leader writhed on the ground, his friends came at us. I would love to say that we beat the tar out of them, and sent them home crying to their mamas, but that’s just not how it happened. Rogers — or Steve, I would discover he preferred to be called — was stubborn, but he was small and weak and his fighting skills left much to be desired. I had one trick in my playbook, and I had already used it, which meant the bullies kept their legs clear of my swinging feet. It wasn’t until we were both bruised and breathless, that our savior turned up.

“Are you kidding me right now?” a boy’s voice called down the alley. “Get the hell outta here.”

I didn’t think he was talking to Steve and I, as the bullies stopped wailing on us and dashed for the alley, almost leaving their friend behind.

“Are you trying to die, Stevie?” the newcomer asked.

I was sitting on the pavement, my knees scraped, my frilly dress ripped and soiled. I was certain I would have at least one black eye, but from the one I could still see through, I saw the visage of an angel. It might have been that he had come to our rescue, and it meant that I wouldn’t die in an alley in Brooklyn, or that he was the most handsome young man I had ever seen. In retrospect, it was likely both, and all I could do is sit and stare at him as he helped Steve to his feet.

“Now you got dames fighting with ya?”

“Didn’t ask her to, Buck. She just turned up,” Steve answered, his words slurred through his split lip. “Kicked Pete Schmidt right in the shin.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, turning his bright blue eyes to me. I’d never had a crush on a boy before, but in that instant, my heart began to race. “What’s your name, doll?”

“Bethany. Just Beth. My friends call me Beth,” I amended. Not that I had any friends to call me anything. Little Women had been my favorite book, and I was much more fond of the name Beth, than the more pretentious sound of Bethany.

“Beth, huh?” he said, moving to me when Steve was mostly on his feet. He held out his hand, and for a moment, I looked at it. Did he want to shake hands? “You want to sit on the ground all day?” he asked, with an unnerving smirk.

I took his hand, and he easily lifted me to my feet. He was older than I was, by at least a couple of years, but I had grown fast and I was almost the same height. “Do you have a name?” I asked, feeling a little sassy after my alleyway scuffle.

“Bucky.”

“James Buchanan Barnes,” Steve provided.

James Buchanan Barnes narrowed his eyes at his friend, but returned his eyes to me, taking in my destroyed dress and the cuts and scrapes I had earned myself in the brawl. He shook his head and turned to Steve. “You know, I can’t be looking after you all the time. I’ve got a real job now. You think you could just stay out of trouble while I’m working?”

“I don’t need you to — “

“Yeah, can it, Stevie. I’ve heard it _all_ before,” Bucky said. “So. Your girlfriend’s not from around here.”

“She’s not my — “ Steve began, at the same time that I said, “I’m not his girlfriend.”

“Just a concerned citizen,” Bucky guessed, grinning again. My heart fluttered.

“Yes, that’s it,” I agreed, absently smoothing my dress.

“Alright, come on, you two bruisers. I got paid today, so we’re going to grab a drink. My treat. After we get you two cleaned up. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.” He made a face at our appearance as he smoothed his shirt, and walked — or perhaps it would have better been described as a strut — to the alley entrance. He bent down and picked up my grocery bag, gesturing for us to follow.

I didn’t know anything about these young men, other than their names, but as I followed and listened to their lighthearted banter, I trusted them. Neither of them were any more clear about how I would fit in with them than I was, but they were gentlemanly and sweet and eager to chat. Eventually, the three of us were sitting on the curb, drinking Coca Cola from ice cold bottles, and they were sharing stories of their misadventures, excitedly talking over each other in their enthusiasm. I can’t remember ever laughing as much as I did with Bucky and Steve. I didn’t know it at the time, but my fate had become irreversibly intertwined with theirs. For better or for worse.

 

 


	2. Impossible Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beth's imagination dreams of impossible things, and there are only two people in the world who don't think she's crazy for it.

_June 1933_  
_Brooklyn_

  
I had survived a year without my parents finding out about my frequent trips to Brooklyn with Della. There were days that I wasn’t sure how. Stevie was a scrapper and never backed down from a fight, no matter what the odds. Bucky ended up coming to his — or our — rescue, enough times that I began to wonder if that was what he had been put on this earth to do. Despite his ability to drive off the bullies, he was quiet and thoughtful, sweet and generous, and nothing resembling the rough reputation he had earned for himself in the neighborhood. I think that only Stevie and I saw that side of him, and I considered it an honor to know him that way.

Bucky was the one who wanted to see my notebook; the one that was filled with intricate concept drawings of technology only found in my imagination. My dreams were wild with possibilities, and everyone but Bucky thought they were a little crazy. He would thumb through the book with his quiet intensity, chewing his bottom lip and occasionally nodding. He might not have known how to bring the technology to fruition, but he was endlessly fascinated with where I dreamed of going with it.

“You should do this,” he said, stabbing his finger at the page, and I leaned over to see what had him so excited.

“I wish,” I said, chuckling at the very idea. I would need tools that were beyond my means and resources, and creating a concept drawing was a far cry from making it a reality.

“What does it do?” he asked, tearing his eyes from the notebook and looking at me.

“It walks and picks things up. Maybe talks…” I suggested, thinking it was a daring concept.

“ _Talks_! How would you do _that_?” he asked.

We spent the better part of two hours discussing my ‘robot’, and the more excited he became, the more dramatic my own gestures became. We were waving our hands and scribbling notes of impossible things in my book, so caught up in it that we hardly noticed when Steve walked up, folding his arms and furrowing his brow. He towered over us (because we were sitting down), blocking the sun and casting a shadow over the chicken scratches on the page.

“Stevie, check this out,” Bucky said, pointing at my drawing.

Steve might have been less enthusiastic about my work, but he offered warm smiles and as much encouragement as he could muster over something he didn’t fully believe was possible, and I loved him for his effort. He might not have believed in the possibility of robotics, but he believed in me.

“What’s it do?” he asked, sitting down on the step just above us.

“I think it should pick dirty laundry off the floor,” Bucky said.

“That tells me a lot about you, Buck,” I said, nudging him playfully with my shoulder. “I’d want it to wash dishes…” I added, wrinkling my nose at the thought of the chore that I’d only ever had to do while staying at Della’s.

“Oh, waterproof!” Bucky said, scribbling the idea in my book. There would be a day in the not too distant future that I would cherish seeing his handwriting beside mine in my notebook; his words were in neat, deliberate script next to my rushed, jagged print.

“Why does its head look like that?” Steve asked. He had taken the notebook from Bucky when he’d finished writing in it, and frowned at the drawing.

I frowned back at him. “I’m a scientist, not an artist.”

“Yep. I got that,” Steve teased, and laughed as I snatched the book back from him.

“Steve should draw it. He’s really good.”

“I’m not really…” Steve protested, modestly.

“Would you?” I asked. “Maybe someday you’ll be famous for your beautiful robot drawings.”

“I doubt that,” he chuckled. “But sure. I could draw it for you. I’d look a hell of a lot better than _that_.”

“ _Language_ ,” both Bucky and I said, simultaneously, and we all laughed.

That joyful Summer afternoon is my last memory of Bucky, that is not mingled with pain.


	3. It Happened One Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She really shouldn't have expected anything different, but that didn't make it hurt any less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter to lead into more important events. Hope you enjoy!

_Brooklyn, 1934_  
  
  
It was late Summer, and Stevie and I sat on the front steps of his building, watching a bunch of younger kids playing ball in the street.  We had played catch on our own for awhile, until he’d tired out.  I threw like a girl already, but it helped that I could toss the ball like I was throwing to a toddler, while appearing to be giving my best effort.  He never would have tolerated me holding back, had he known.  His mom had made us tall glasses of lemonade, and we sat quietly as we sipped it.  
  
Where Bucky was always engaging me in lengthy conversations about my thoughts, radio shows, , news headlines, new movies, and everything under the sun, Stevie and I were content to sit in silence with no sense of awkwardness.  
  
We were cheering one of the kids getting a hit that had sent the ball across the street, narrowly missing an apartment window, when Steve stopped and pointed in the opposite direction.  “Would you look at that?”  
  
My bright smile faded when I saw Bucky approaching, his hair uncharacteristically tidy in a slicked back style.  Trousers pressed, shoes polished, and button down shirt tucked in, he wore a smart looking tie and suspenders, his jacket thrown casually over his shoulder.  And that smirk, as we stared at him, was nothing if not entirely confident that he looked great.    
  
“What’s all this, Barnes?” I asked, recovering when he was only steps away.  I was not nearly so confident, and my use of his last name instead of his nickname should have been evidence of this, though neither of the boys commented on my sudden discomfort.  
  
“I got a date,” he said, grinning proudly, bouncing a little on his toes with excitement he couldn’t physically contain.  
  
I was supposed to smile and pat him on the back, just as Steve did, but I could only stare at him, as if he had said the most ridiculous thing I had ever heard.  “What do you mean?” I asked dumbly.  
  
“You know.  A guy asks a girl to go — “  he began to explain patiently.  
  
“I know what the word means,” I snapped peevishly.  “But why?”  
  
“Well, doll…” he began.  
  
“Nevermind.  I don’t care,” I said, and sipped at my lemonade, feigning interest in the game going on in the street.  
  
Bucky stared at me, chewing the corner of his lip as he tried to figure out my mood.  
  
“Who’s the lucky girl, pal?”  Steve asked, drawing Bucky’s stare away from me.  
  
“Oh yeah.  You know Mary Ellen Taylor?  Her ma works at the bakery…”  
  
They continued to chat excitedly about the merits of one Mary Ellen Taylor, the length of her skirts — or lack of length thereof — and the perfect shade of her pale blond hair, while I sat there hating how brunette I was, that my skirts were perfectly appropriate, and that, even at almost fourteen, I wasn’t blessed with what anyone would call ‘merits’.    
  
“I should go,” I said, suddenly, standing up so quickly that I nearly toppled over.  
  
“What for?  You’re not supposed to go back to Manhattan until Sunday, and Della is…”  Steve protested, disappointed that both Bucky and I were leaving him to fend for himself on a Friday evening.  
  
“I just remembered… something I need to do,” I said.  The pang of jealousy settled in the pit of my stomach, and I hated that he had such an effect on me.  I wasn’t old enough to date anyway, but I guess I had always hoped that someone as sweet, smart and handsome as Bucky would just be sitting around waiting for me to ‘grow up’.  No such luck.  
  
“Well, okay.  See you tomorrow then?” Steve asked hopefully.  
  
I nodded and smiled.  Okay, it was more of a grimace, but at least I made the effort.  I walked as quickly toward Della’s building as I could go without tripping over my own feet.  I was nearly home free when  a hand grabbed my arm and spun me around.  
  
“Hey,”  Bucky said.  To his credit, he sounded genuinely concerned, though baffled.  “Something wrong?”  
  
“What?  No, of course not,” I said, pretending to smile.  I couldn’t meet his eyes, but I looked up enough to see the corners of his mouth turned down, and the way he was nervously chewing on his lip.  He had been so happy about his date with Mary Ellen, and I was spoiling it with my stupid jealousy.  “Sorry, Buck.”  I said.  “You look really swell.”  
  
The corner of his lips turned up, and he lifted my chin with his hand.  The lack of eye contact in conversation bothered him.  He always told me he didn’t trust someone a lick if they couldn’t meet his eyes when he talked to them.  “Thanks, but…  You’re sure you’re okay?  Stevie get into another fight?  Your parents giving you trouble?  Tell me.”  
  
I was being a brat, and he was thinking of my well-being.  Typical Bucky.  But it didn’t make me feel any better about his date, and it didn’t stop me from wishing I was the one who was going with him.  “No, none of that.  It’s just…”  
  
“You’re lying to me,” he said.   He frowned, the genuine hurt in his expression making me hate myself for being such a coward.  
  
I could have said that I was fine and denied his accusation, but when his gaze was so intently focused on me, I found that I simply could not lie to him.  “I’m sorry, James.  I do hope you have a great time.”     
  
It was all true, but at the sound of his given name, he took a step back as if I had struck him.  “Alright then,” he said, taking another step back.  I’d injured and confused him, and there was no recourse other than to admit my jealousy.  There was no way I was doing that.  “Have a good night, _Bethany_ ,” he said, as he turned his back on me.  
  
I rubbed a hand subconsciously over my stomach where the ache had settled.  It had only been only fair, but it didn’t change the fact that the use of my full name hurt just as much as the thought of his arm around some other girl.


	4. More Precious than Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time only makes things more complicated...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, beloved readers! 
> 
> I debated taking the story forward and into the war, but I'm feeling very attached to, and inspired by , the pre-war relationships between these characters, and it's something I want to explore for just awhile longer. Or at least until my muses let me move on. ;)
> 
> Hope you're enjoying it -- let me know!

_Brooklyn, September 1935_

  
As I progressed through high school, I began to take things more seriously; my education in particular, but also life in general. I knew that if I were to make any of my 'impossible dreams' come true, I would need to work at least twice as hard as any boy. I would need to prove myself to the world and the science community. I was not content with being a lab assistant, and it was not my intent to marry a scientist to be a part of the future by association.

My trips to Brooklyn were fewer and farther between. I was old enough that Della would leave me at home, often cooped up in my room with my books, for days at a time. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see Steve or Bucky. A part of my mind was always in Brooklyn, but when I was physically in Brooklyn, things were just… different.

Ever since Bucky’s date with Mary Ellen, we had drifted apart. It was almost entirely my doing, however subconsciously. He showed no interest in me romantically, and it was painful to see him with anyone else. I was not the sort of girl to pine — or so I told myself — and he read my emotional distance as a fracture in our relationship. He was still civil, even friendly at times. He still wanted to see my notebooks, and every once in awhile, we’d sit on the stoop of Steve’s building doing our homework in silence. Or rather, we would sit on the stoop, Bucky would do his homework, and I would steal glances. I loved how he would chew on his lip when he concentrated, his brow furrowing.

Ok, so I was pining.

Steve continued to be a solid presence in my life. Sure, he was small and weak, even compared to me, but he had the strongest heart of all of us. He always knew, without words, when someone needed a pat on the back, or a hug, or an encouraging word. I hated that life had dealt him such a crappy hand. Someone like Steve was meant to be a leader of men, not a small, sickly boy fighting to exist in a brutal, often hateful, world. The injustice never deterred him.

He didn’t always play the mediator, though. When it came to Bucky and I, he remain neutral. We would bicker and debate, and Steve would sit on the sidelines, mostly amused by our antics.

It was a warm September Saturday, and the three of us were sitting outside, pretending to study. There were more doodles on the margins of Steve’s math homework than equations and I was mostly sketching in my notebook, blowing bubbles with my gum as I often did while I was thinking.

“Could you stop that?” Bucky snapped, cutting a dirty look toward me.

“Stop what?” I asked, popping my gum, even knowing how much it annoyed him.

“That’s it,” he said, tossing his book aside and lunging toward me, his fingers reaching for my mouth, as if he intended to make me stop by taking the the gum by force.

“No, help!” I screeched, laughing.

He had given up being mad, and was laughing wickedly. He knew I was no match for him, but he didn’t avoid confrontations with me because I was female. One of his hands mercilessly tickled my ribs while his other arm braced my shoulders against the brick steps. Steve, defender of the weak and slayer of bullies, simply sat there, shaking his head and pretending to tackle his math homework. Traitor.

“Give me the gum,” Bucky said, pausing in the torture to wiggle his fingers near my side.

“Never,” I said. Attempting to look fierce while I laughed, and tears ran down my cheeks, was ineffectual, and Bucky grinned. The flipping in my stomach had very little to do with fear, at that moment, and I’m almost positive he had no idea what my adolescent body was really going through.

“Why don’t you two kiss and get it over with,” Steve commented.

I had never seen Bucky move as quickly, or clumsily, as he did at Steve’s words, recoiling at the suggestion that our play was any more than two buddies duking it out.

“Shut up, Rogers,” Bucky said, straightening his hair and his shirt as he composed himself.

I was admirably more graceful, sitting up slowly, popping my gum again when I had regained a degree of poise.

“Has Bucky even kissed a girl?” I asked. I was trying to tease him, but I really didn’t want to know the answer to that question, whether it had been one girl or a thousand, I prayed that he wouldn’t answer.

Fortunately, he shot me a glare instead of an answer, and returned to his school work.

I was fifteen. In retrospect, I would have seen those games for what they were. I would have talked to him instead of making assumptions. It wouldn’t be until much, much later that I would know what had been going on in his mind. And at that point, it would be too late to do anything about it.

—-

_December 25, 1935_

  
On my bedside table, Christmas morning:

  
_Dearest Beth,_

_I know it’s kind of cheating to get you a present for both Christmas and your birthday, but Buck and I wanted to get you something really good. We don’t get so see you too much anymore, with the weather being so awful, and all the schoolwork you have to do, so maybe this will help you remember us when you’re famous._

_We love you, Bethy. Don’t tell Bucky I said so, cause he’ll deny it like a punk, but I know it’s true. We’re family, no matter what. Don’t ever forget that._

_Love,_

_Steve ( & Bucky)_

  
Inside a small, poorly wrapped box, tied with a lopsided blue hair ribbon, was a silver, oval locket. _Real_ silver. Don’t get me wrong, I would have worn it if it had been made of tin, but I knew that they had worked hard to put together enough money to buy me something this precious. My chest ached even before I carefully opened it to look inside. I don’t know what I expected to see, but the photo of the two of them smiling back at me crushed my heart with a bittersweet fist. I wrapped my fingers around necklace and held it to my chest, wishing that I could hold us all together by sheer force of will. Brooklyn seemed a million miles away when all I wanted to do was hug them and tell them that I loved them too.

The rest of my Christmas was filled with extravagance. Gifts that my parents’ servants had picked out; clothes and jewelry, and a perfect shade of red lipstick from Macy's that probably had cost more than my most cherished locket.  Honestly, they could have driven Cinderella’s coach to the front door of our house, and it would have paled in comparison to the necklace. There I was, sitting in an opulent drawing room with strangers who were supposed to be my family, but my _real_ family was in Brooklyn, exchanging heartfelt gifts and sharing a modest, but wonderful meal together, laughing and singing Christmas carols.

I retired early, skipping dessert. I let my parents believe that the necklace was a gift from Della, and they _almost_ managed to avoid scoffing at the ‘trinket’. I wasn’t going to allow them to tarnish any more of my day, and I wanted to be alone.

I crawled into bed that night and opened my locket. I could barely see the picture by moonlight, but I had already memorized their faces smiling back at me. Silent tears slipped down my cheeks and dampened my pillow.

I fell asleep with my fingers curled around the small silver oval, as if holding it tightly could keep us together through what was to come.

 


	5. Growing Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of new things, and the giving up of old...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be from Bucky's PoV. It's time.
> 
> Thanks so much for the kudos and comments -- they really are the fuel of writing!
> 
> Lara_Barnes: Thank you for your comments! Do not despair! Things may look up in time. I can't torment these two forever. Probably. ;)

_May 1937_  
_Brooklyn_  
  
  
“Dear Miss Hale,”  Steve read aloud.  “We are writing to inform you that your application for acceptance to The School of Engineering and Applied Science at Columbia University has been approved!”  He turned a rare, bright smile to me before he continued reading.   “The Committee on Admissions was deeply impressed with your scholastic and personal achievements and with your demonstrated interest in the fields of Engineering and Applied Science.  We offer you our sincere congratulations on your accomplishments thus far and eagerly anticipate those that lie ahead.”  
  
There was more to the letter; details about admissions paperwork and an offer to visit the campus and labs, but once he had come to the heart of the letter, he tossed it aside and reached for a hug.  “That’s so great!  Wait.  Why aren’t you more excited?”  
  
He pulled away and looked at me with Steve’s patented expression of concern.  “Beth, why are you frowning?  You got accepted into college.  And for an engineering program, not some Home Ec thing.”  
  
“I know.  I know,” I answered, smiling feebly.  “I should be jumping for joy.  Maybe I am a little.  I can’t help but think that my father has something to do with this.”  
  
“Is that the worst thing?  I mean, he hasn’t done much for you, sorry to say.  It’s about time he stepped up.”  
  
“I would have rather earned it on my own merit,” I said, picking up the letter and tucking it into my bag.    
  
“Of course.  But… well, Bethie, that’s not usually the way things work.  Hey, it’s hard to get into Columbia, even for a guy.   And even with your father’s influence, they’re not going to let you in if you’re a horrible candidate.”  
  
“Great.  Thanks, Stevie,” I said, giving him a teasing half-smile.  
  
“You know what I mean!” he defended, nudging me in the ribs with a sharp elbow.  “Just take it!  Show ‘em what you’ve got.  You’ve always been ready to prove yourself, so do it.  You’ll be better than any of those other fellas.  Making history even.”  
  
“I’ll be happy just to pass,” I said.  We both knew that I would never be content with passing grades.  I would give everything I had, and yet I worried that I would never be taken seriously, and understood that there was a rough road ahead.    
  
“It’s hard to believe this is our last Summer together,”  Steve said, sobering.  
  
“Don’t start with that,” I said, draping an arm around his shoulders.  “You and Buck were already out doing your own thing.  I’ll still be around.  Just… less.”  
  
“Christmas… Spring Break….  You’re not going to have any reason to want to leave Manhattan for the next four years.”  
  
“Now you’ve lost your mind, Rogers,” I said.  “I have several very valid reasons.  Della would skin me alive if I never visited, and I’d never abandon you and Bucky.”  
  
“Speaking of Bucky…”  
  
“Oh god, what?”  I asked, already feeling my chest tighten with concern.   I had managed to avoid asking where he was, and was awful proud of myself for my resolve.    
  
“You know I know, right?”  he asked, leveling me with a serious gaze.  “It’s pretty obvious.  To me, anyway.”  
  
“I… don’t know what you mean.”  
  
“Come off it, Beth.  You’ve been sweet on Bucky since I’ve known you,” he replied.  He wasn’t teasing, or even smiling.  He had seen right through my act, and he was worried for me.  
  
“Does he — “  
  
“Nah.  Buck’s oblivious to those things.  He’s got so many dames falling over him, he doesn’t see the one who loves him best,” Steve answered with a sad smile.  “But he’s got this girl he’s dizzy over…”  
  
“Steve…”  
  
“No, I put off telling you because I didn’t want to be the one to hurt you.  Then I started to worry that you’d find out by seeing them together, or him saying something stupid.  I wanted you to be prepared.”  
  
“Thanks?”  I felt ill.  A part of me had written off anything romantic between Bucky and I.  I knew I’d be going off to school, and that there was something about me that didn’t appeal to him, but this was the first time I felt that small light of hope extinguished.  That little, stubborn candle flame that assured me that someday he would really see me, and that glorious day when I began to develop curves and dressed more like a woman than the tomboy I’d always been, he would look at me and realize that I was female.  But it had never happened - the noticing, not the curves.  He rarely even made eye contact anymore, and that hurt more than the romantic rejection.  
  
“Beth…”  Steve said, taking my hand.  “He’s a fool.  I don’t know what’s going on in that thick skull of his, but probably nothing.  Maybe he doesn’t want to spoil all those years of friendship.  He doesn’t have a lot of real friends.”  
  
“It’s fine, Steve,” I answered, squeezing his hand gently.  I leaned over and rested my head on my best friend’s shoulder.  To the casual observer, we might have been lovers sharing a cuddle on the stoop of the ratty apartment building, despite the odd couple we made; he with his oversized shirt and trousers, and me with my overpriced, tailored skirt suit and heels.  
  
“I know it’s not fine, but hey, maybe someday he’ll grow a brain and come to his senses.”  
  
“Maybe.”  
  
“Cheer up, buttercup.  You got into Columbia,” he said.  Bright and cheerful was not Steve’s way, but he was the King of Making Things Right.  A part of me wished that I would have fallen in love with Steve Rogers instead, and the absence of romantic affections had nothing to do with his health or his size or lack of money.  I was certain that he was meant to be my best friend, though that term was never strong enough for what he was.  I knew I would never mean as much to him as Bucky, but Steve was my brother.  And even that word fell short.  
  
“You know what would cheer me up?” I said, sitting up and forcing a smile.  
  
“Let me guess.  It involves food.”  
  
I stood up and took his hand, lifting him to his feet.   “You know me too well.”


	6. The Great Act

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's Point of View as he deals with awkward feelings and his own sense of obligation to his friends...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning for Swearing.**
> 
> I really enjoyed writing from Bucky's point of view. I should do this more often, maybe?
> 
> I've also LOVED your comments. Thank you so much for your support and feedback! <3

_Brooklyn, 1938_

**Bucky’s PoV**

  
_I would make some considerable, stupid-ass mistakes in my lifetime, but the worst one of all was assuming I knew what was best for the people I love. And I did it repeatedly, like it was going to turn out differently next time. Somehow, I was going to be the hero and sacrifice my own desires for someone I love, and it would all turn out fine in the end._

_Stupid, stupid, stupid._

_Because despite all my best intentions, and despite thinking I know my friends really well, I can’t read minds._

_No fucking kidding, right?_

_Beth. You’d have to meet her to know why that name fills me with such horribly mixed feelings. On the one hand, she’s my best friend. She’s one of Steve’s greatest champions. She’s smart without being condescending and rich without being an ass about it. She’s sex in heels but doesn’t use it to get her way. Don’t get me wrong, she’s has her share of faults; I’m not completely blind._

_For one, she_ loves _to annoy me. She goes out of her way to drive me up a fucking tree. She’s impatient, moody, and has a really bad habit of starting to tell you something, and then saying “never mind”, forcing you to either let it go, or endure an endless argument of “tell me” answered with “I said ‘never mind’” until you want to pull out your own hair. She hides in her own mind and forgets you’re there. She doesn’t mean to; I think it might be a product of all the shit she’s got going on in her brain, but when you have to repeat five minutes of conversation because she’s checked out… yeah._

_She’s amazing and she’s annoying as shit._

_And I’m one hundred percent head over heels in love with her._

_So what’s the problem, Bucky? You might be asking yourself. Hell, I’m asking it too. The problem is, she’s Bethany Hale._

_The Hales of Manhattan managed to stay afloat during the economic catastrophe of the Depression, while most of us flailed to survive. Not that Beth ever made us feel bad for our humble houses or hand-me-down clothes, or the fact that we had to scrape to put food on the table, but her life was privileged. Even when she dressed like a boy — which made her no less appealing, by the way — her clothing reeked of prosperity. I’ve gotten in dozens of fights over Stevie, and just as many to beat down some asshole that wanted to take something from Beth. Just so she would keep visiting a neighborhood she sure as hell didn’t belong in._

_Likewise, she doesn’t belong with me._

_Not to dive into a pool of false modesty. I’ve had enough dames tell me I’m good looking to know I’m not hard on the eyes, but what difference will that make down the line?_

_We’re way too young to think about marriage, but Beth isn’t the girl you take out to a movie, sneak a little kiss and send her on her way. Beth is the one you keep. You plant your flag beside her, and claim her before some other fella, who can’t possibly see her worth, puts his dirty paws on her. And she’s going to do too much with her life to be tied down to someone who won’t value her. Or someone who might tie her down to a house and kids when she should be making the world a better place. And lets face it, the likelihood of me giving her the luxury she’s become accustomed to? Zero to nil._

_Something Steve and Beth don’t know about me? One of my finest talents is acting. I can convince either of those two that I’m fine. Yep. Beating them at their own game every day since 1932. Every date, every dame that I proclaim as the next Mrs. James Buchanan Barnes; Mary Ellen, Joann, Margie, Katherine, Dot? Sweet, fun girls. Some more than others. And decidedly, not Beth. I’ll take her annoying, gum popping, moody, sassy mouth every day over those other dames’ cheerfully fake compliance. Christ, if I have to hear another girl giggle ‘Oh Bucky’ at one of my stupid ass jokes again… Give me Beth’s aggravated eye-roll accompanied by a rather forceful punch in the arm. Every day. All day. I have it bad._

_But I can’t have her, so I do what’s ‘best’. I make another date. I pretend I don’t notice that new dress or the way she fills it out. I don’t look her in the eye and count the flecks of pale gold in the blue, or watch the way her lips move when she speaks, or her nose scrunches up when she’s annoyed or confused. One day, she’ll meet the right guy. Probably in college. Some scientist with a pedigree and a nice car who can give her everything she deserves._

_I will be happy for her. Smile. I’m fine. No, really. Just fine._

  
“Bucky. Buck!” Stevie shook my shoulder, and I nearly dropped the pen in my hand.

“Oh, hey,” I said, closing the book quickly and tucking it into my jacket pocket, along with my pen.

I’d been sitting in that booth for hours. My lunch plate had been cleared away and the coffee in front of me had grown cold long ago. Aside from taking my order, the waitresses here left me alone to think and write, and I never expected Steve to find me here. Not that this wasn’t our favorite place to eat, but I thought he was spending the day with Her.

“Are you… writing?” he asked. Never mind that he had sketched in his own little notebook for years. Suddenly it’s newsworthy that I’m writing.

“Yeah, I learned how to do that at some point. What’s going on?” I asked, desperate to change the subject, though I carefully avoided asking where She was.

“I thought you’d want to see Beth before she goes. She thinks you’re avoiding her,” he added. He narrowed his eyes at me. Clearly he thought so too.

“Why would I do that? I’m just busy.”

“Busy writing. Right. It’s your day off, and Beth is here visiting for the first time in months,” he reminded me.

“Appears that way,” I answered, casually. I gestured to the waitress for a fresh cup of coffee.

“What’s really going on, Buck? Did you two get into it again?”

“Nope.”

“Okay, then what — “

“Maybe I just don’t want…” I began, but the look of disgust on Steve’s face cut me short.

“You don’t want to see her,” Steve challenged. “ _Bullshit_.”

I blinked. Not because Steve was swearing, he had a dirtier mouth than I did, by far. It just wasn’t like him to _call_ me on my bullshit, and I was surprised as hell that he could see it. Maybe I wasn’t as good of an actor as I assumed.

“You know she’s going to get away, right? She’s going to find some guy. Maybe her new lab partner — “

“Lab partner?” I asked, sitting up straight on the bench. That got my attention. It was happening already. “Who is he?”

Steve smirked. Sometimes I wanted to punch him right in the teeth. “I forgot his name. David. Damian. Brent… He’s a stand up guy, I hear. They’re working on some project together. Devilishly handsome.”

“You made that part up,” I accused.

“Because you’re the only devilishly handsome man in her life?”

I narrowed my eyes, leaning forward as I wrapped my hand around my coffee cup. It kept it from flying across the table to smack my best friend upside the head. “This… David Damian Brent. Is he…”

“Rich? Handsome? Smart?” Steve asked, holding up fingers as he named off each quality. “Oh, and funny. He’s so terribly funny.”

“Fuck.”

“Language, Buck.”

“Goddamn it.” I drove my fingers back into my hair, making a mess of it. It suited what I had done to myself already. “But she’s happy.”

“I guess. I mean… she still asked about your sorry ass. For whatever _that’s_ worth.”

“She did?” I perked up like a hunting dog spotting it’s prey. Pathetic, I know, but it was impossible for me to disguise my hope at that moment. Yes, _amazing_ actor.

“She’s not a kid anymore. None of us are. She’s in a school full of men, studying a subject that is dominated by men. No chaperone. No parents to tell her to be home by ten. Stuff’s gonna happen.”

“‘Stuff’ is _not_ going to happen,” I said. My stomach clenched, along with my fist, at the thought of some guy kissing _my_ girl, let alone all the other ‘stuff’ that could happen.

Steve shook his head and I glowered. There was no reasoning with me. My mind was set when it came to Beth, but at the same time, I was going to have to watch her fall in love. With David Damian Brent. Or whatever the hell his name was.

“You gotta do something about it. Or let it go. ‘Stuff’ is gonna happen, even if you give it that look. It’s pretty impressive, by the way. If looks could kill…”

I relaxed.  Stopped staring at my best friend like I was going to destroy him.  “Beth is… not for me. And you’re going to keep all this to yourself.”

“Is that what you want?”

“That’s what I want,” I replied. I put on my best ‘I’m fine’ face, and for that moment, I think he might have believed me.

I’m a _great_ actor.

 


	7. Goodnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The tragedy of life is not death, but what we let die inside of us while we live.” - Norman Cousins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The saddest, and perhaps happiest, chapter? 
> 
> The song mentioned in this chapter can be found on YouTube: I'll Never Smile Again - Tommy Dorsey/Frank Sinatra. It was a top song in 1940 and it sets the mood and tone for this chapter.
> 
> We're on a quick, inevitable path toward WWII, and away from their early lives in New York. Let me know what you think so far! <3

_Manhattan, 1940_  
  
  
I sat at my apartment window, watching the rain come down.   The forecast had called for sunshine all week, so the sudden black skies and unrelenting downpour was a bad omen.   I was debating whether to grab my umbrella and run to the diner to meet my lab partner, Daniel, for our study date, when there was a knock on my door.  
  
I assumed that Daniel had come here, which was a tad presumptuous and a bit forward, considering I had never invited him over, but he was a nice guy, and I decided that I would forgive him.   I swung the door open, ready with some corny line about the weather when I was met with Bucky’s solemn face.  He was leaning against the door frame,  his expression exhausted and drawn, his eyes red, as if he had been crying.    
  
“Bucky, my god, what’s wrong?” I asked, swinging the door open so he could come inside.  
  
His eyes swept the room, taking in the small, clean and modestly decorated apartment that he’d never taken the opportunity to come to see, in the two years I had lived there.  Standing in the middle of the room, he held his hat between his hands, running his fingers along the brim as he chewed on his bottom lip.  
  
“Bucky, _what_?”  I asked, impatiently, when he still hadn’t so much as greeted me.  
  
“It’s Sarah.  Steve’s mom.”  
  
“I know who Sarah is,” I said.  Perhaps I was too snappish, but my defenses were up.  I knew she had been very ill, and I suddenly knew why Buck was here, and I really wished that he wasn’t.  
  
He finally looked up and met my eyes.  “She’s gone, Beth.  Steve wanted to come, but…”  Bucky cleared his throat and glanced toward my radio, finding it easier to look at than holding eye contact.  I immediately regretted my tone.  She was Steve's mother, but we had all loved her.   Sarah, who had been so sweet, giving and strong in the face of all of her challenges as a mother raising a sickly child alone.   She’d been a mom to all of us.  
  
We knew it was coming.  Steve had been far more brave than he needed to be, making sure his mother was cared for,  facing the inevitable with dignity and strength, as his mom slowly wasted away.     
  
“Is he okay?” I breathed.    
  
“No,” Bucky said, smiling grimly.  “But he’s pretending to be.  Funeral’s tomorrow.  He thought you might want to come, but with school…”  
  
“No, of course I’ll be there.  Family is more important than classes,” I said.  I was already rescheduling my life in my head, deciding what needed to be packed, if I had a black dress suitable in my closet…  
  
“You don’t have to,” Bucky said.  There was vulnerability in his eyes that I could not ignore.  We had all been drifting apart the past couple of years; Steve had been taking care of his mother and trying to hold a job.  Bucky had been working, and I  had thrown myself into my studies.   We wrote and called, but it hadn’t been the same, and we were all feeling the loss of our companionship.  Did he need me there as much as Steve?    
  
“I do,”  I told him, tearfully, and reached for his hand.  
  
His hand was cold as his fingers curled around mine and squeezed gently before drawing me into his arms.  I went willingly, slipping my arms around his waist.  Affection had never been uncommon in our friendship, though the way he held me as we stood in the middle of my living room, listening to Sinatra sing about how he would never smile again, was a different sort of embrace.   His head lowered to rest against mine, and I felt a hand slip down to my lower back.  My sudden dizziness could have been attributed to emotion, or that I hadn’t taken a breath since our bodies had pressed together.  I didn’t speak, for fear of breaking the moment. 

Tragedies have a way of bringing people closer together, and I understood that he needed my comfort more than anything else, but I couldn’t deny that there was more to it when he pulled away and gently ran two fingertips along my face, his clear blue eyes intent upon mine.  
  
“Beth.”  
  
“Bucky, I…”  I began, but the fingers moved to cover my lips, and he pulled me close again, forcing the air from my lungs and nearly crushing my ribs.  
  
“You should pack a bag,” he whispered against my hair.  “I’ll drive you to Brooklyn.  You can stay with me.”  
  
It felt wrong that a thrill ran through me.  I was going to Brooklyn to stay at Bucky’s for a funeral, not for some torrid affair, and yet, the thought of sleeping at his place was the stuff of all my girlish fantasies. 

“I don’t know if I should.”  
  
He chuckled softly, releasing his hold and taking a step back.  “I don’t know if you should either, but the offer stands.  Sarah’s funeral is in the morning.  We can spend the day with Steve, and I can drive you home Sunday afternoon.”  
  
“I…  Okay,” I decided.  I was a grown woman, and half the girls I knew that were my age were already engaged or married.  I wasn’t a child anymore.  “Just let me get my things.”  
  
I heard him moving around as I rushed to pack a bag.  I felt ill from the sudden influx of emotions; the sadness, the thrill, the worry, the anticipation.  I was empathizing with the storm outside, feeling a similar tumult within myself.     
  
I stepped out of the room and found him looking at a photograph that we had taken during our last day trip together just the Summer before.    A small smile curled the corner of his lips as he looked at our faces.  It was Steve’s biggest smile on record, and Bucky and I were making twin pairs of rabbit ears over his head.  

“This was the best day,”  Bucky said, smiling at our goofy faces.  
  
“It was.  Until you made Stevie ride that stupid roller coaster,” I pointed out, and he laughed.  I walked slowly across the room,  and he put the picture down and reached over to switch off the radio.  
  
“Come here,” he said.  My knees wobbled like jelly, but I was absolutely powerless to resist.  He rested one hand on my shoulder, while the other lifted my chin to meet his eyes.  “You know we…  No.   ** _I_** have missed you.”  
  
“Have you?”   Honestly, I wanted to sound more assured, but I couldn’t force enough air from my throat to sound as confident as I wished I could have been.    
  
“You know what?”  he said, slowly dropping his hands and moving to pick up my suitcase and umbrella.  “I _have_.  Right now, though, you and I need to get back to Brooklyn.  When all the dust has settled,” he added, holding the door open for me, and giving me a look that melted me into my shoes, “I’ll prove to you how much.”  
  
  
——  
  
  
_“I’ll prove to you how much.”_  
  
Bucky’s words ran through my head, and they should have been the last thing on my mind as I worked through a difficult day, but somehow, knowing that he felt something for me held me together, when I only wanted to curl up with Steve and cry my eyes out.  It would have been easier if he had just fallen apart and let himself grieve, but not our Stevie.  
  
Eventually we stopped asking him how he was feeling, as the sound of “I’m fine” was as annoying for him to repeat as it was for us to hear.    
  
The funeral was lovely.  The sun had decided to make an appearance, and I had made certain that there were sufficient flowers, both at the funeral home and at graveside.  She deserved better than her family’s humble means could afford, and it was the very least that I could do.  I would be sure that she received an acceptable headstone.  One less strain for Steve to endure.  He’d fight me on it, but I would win this time.  
  
“How are you doing?”  Bucky asked, walking with Steve to his door.   The stubborn man had given us the slip at graveside, and Bucky was determined to not let Steve sit home alone and brood.  
  
“She’s with Dad…”  
  
I wandered away, allowing them their privacy as I sat on the stoop and watched the kids run by.   Different kids than we had grown up with, and they looked at me with curiosity now, more than scorn.  
  
“You look like you want to go play ball with them,”  Bucky said, sneaking up on me.  
  
“I kind of do.  I didn’t wear the right shoes,”  I said, holding out one black high heel.  
  
“If anyone could do it, it’d be you,” he said, sitting next to me.  
  
“Is he coming with us?”  
  
“Yeah.  He’s grabbing some things.  He started in about us wanting to be alone…”  
  
My eyes snapped to Bucky.  Certainly, I had wondered what would happen when we were in Bucky’s apartment alone, but it startled me to hear him mention it out loud.  “And you told him…”  
  
“I told him I have my own room, and he can sleep on the couch…”  he said with a wink and a smirk.  
  
I blushed blazing crimson.  I could feel it rising from my throat and into my cheeks, in a full, humiliating display of mortification.  “Oh.”  
  
He reached over and brushed strands of my hair back over my shoulder, tucking it behind my ear.  “I’ve never seen you blush before,” he said, amused and astonished.  
  
“I hate you,” I whispered, and he laughed loudly.   It was impossible to hate someone who laughed like he did, or looked like he did when he was doing so.  
  
He leaned over and brushed his lips over my exposed ear.  “You never have to do anything you don’t want to do.”  
  
I turned my head, letting my eyes roam his features until they landed on his lips, then snapped back to his eyes, “I never do anything I don’t want to do, James Barnes.”  
  
He bit his lip and leaned forward.  Despite my display of independence, he knew that he had me wrapped around his finger.  “I know,” he whispered, as he moved in.  
  
“Hey, guys, I — oh.  Um.  Sorry.”  
  
Bucky closed his eyes an lowered his head, shaking it in frustration.   “Stevie.  Your timing…”  
  
“I could stay home!” he offered, generously.  
  
“No.”  Bucky stood up and held his hand out to me.  “We’re going home.   Beth’s going to make popcorn and we’re going to listen to The Shadow.”  
  
“Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men, Stevie?” I asked, mysteriously, imitating the radio show’s famous introduction.  
  
“Fine,”  he said, with a reluctant smile, as we dragged him away.  
  
  
—-  
  
Somehow, I had fallen asleep on the floor, propped against a couch cushion and buried under blankets and spilled popcorn.  I vaguely felt the blankets drawn away, and strong arms lifting me, and I was too tired to protest.  
  
“Bedtime,” Bucky whispered, and I nodded in agreement.  
  
He carried me to his room and held me against his chest with one arm as he swept the blankets back and set me down.  The movement roused me enough to open my eyes and look up at him as he pulled the blankets up around me.  “Bucky…”  
  
“Shh,” he said, leaning down to kiss my forehead.  Being tucked in like a child hadn’t been what I had imagined for that night, but I also couldn’t wake enough to argue.  “Just sleep.”  
  
“No,”  I murmured.  “Stay.”  
  
Indecision played over his features, but in he end, he stripped down to his undershirt and boxers and slipped into bed beside me.   Gently, he pulled me to him until I was nestled comfortably against his warm body, his arm draped over my waist.  His lips pressed against my forehead, and in that perfect comfort I began to drift off again.  
  
“ _I love you…_ ”  The words were certain, but sad, and when the morning came, I knew that I had to have dreamed them.


	8. It Doesn't Have to End in a Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She would do anything to protect them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't plan to linger too long on the relationship between Beth and Daniel, but it will become very important later. I'm already writing what comes next for Beth and Bucky, so stay tuned!

 

_Manhattan, 1940_

 

  
  
Returning to my regularly scheduled, regimented school life was harder than it had ever been.   When I wasn’t thinking about Bucky, I was worrying about Steve, and Brooklyn felt like it was a million miles away instead of less than ten.   Getting across that damned bridge felt like an expedition to the top of Mt. Everest.  
  
“Where are you?”  Daniel asked.    
  
I had been staring at a set of drawings for our final project for who knew how long, chewing a hole through my bottom lip. 

“What?  Sorry.  Just preoccupied.”  
  
A line appeared between his brows and he leaned against the table.  I knew he’d done me a favor by partnering with me.  None of the other men in the class were interested in working with a ‘dame’.  I was letting him down.  “You need a break?”  
  
“No, I’m fine,”  I said, tapping my pen on the edge of the table.  “Let’s finish this up.”  
  
He smiled at me.   Now, by all rights, I should have been entranced by that smile.  There was no doubt that Daniel was handsome, brilliant and available.  He was tall and lean, with stunning hazel eyes, wavy blond hair, and a gorgeous smile.  He might have even been interested, though I never made that assumption, even when it should have been glaringly obvious.  
  
“We can just drag this to the diner.  Grab some coffee?” he suggested.  
  
These ‘stealth dates’ had begun to occur more and more often, justified by the need to finish a project, and his assertion that we had to eat.    My practical brain ignored the ‘accidental’ brushes of his hand against mine, or the lingering stare that traveled to my lips when I was talking, so I didn’t see it coming.

  
  
It was late one evening, when we had spent the day finishing details of our project, and we were walking back toward my apartment from the library.   His fingertips brushed against mine.  It was another accidental consequence of our proximity, until his fingers curled around mine before I could pull away.   My eyes shot to his smiling face and my heart sunk into my stomach.  This was not a part of my plan.     
  
My instinct to jerk my hand away was tempered by our friendship.  I didn’t want to insult him, even if my point needed to be made clearly.  I stopped on the sidewalk and gently removed my hand from his.  “Daniel…”  
  
“Okay, I get it,” he said, the smile fading from his lips.  “‘Let’s be friends?’  I’m sorry.  I just thought…”  
  
“No, _I’m_ sorry.  I feel like maybe I should have made things more clear… “  
  
“You did.  This is on me.   You’re still caught up on that Brooklyn kid.”  
  
I frowned.  I must have mentioned Bucky and Steve a million times in the past months, and referring to either of them as ‘That Brooklyn Kid’ was meant to be insulting.     
  
“They’re my friends.  My family,”  I said, as gently as I could manage through clenched teeth.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, less genuine than before.  “It’s just… You’re destined for better things, Beth.  You’re going to help change the world.”  
  
“And that precludes friendship with people from Brooklyn, lacking a country club membership?”  I asked.  The restraint I had employed to keep from hurting his feelings was quickly slipping away.  My Achilles Heel: two wonderful boys from Brooklyn, and Daniel was dangerously close to learning how much of a bitch I could really be.  
  
“It precludes associations with people who are not your caliber.  Who are below your pedigree,” he said, with an imperious tone that had me seeing red.  
  
“You’re _joking_ ,” I said, stunned to breathlessness.  “You…  How did I possibly miss that you were actually an insufferable snob?”  
  
My feet began to carry me away from the conversation, before I could make things worse, and at first, it seemed that he would let me go.  Then I heard the quick tapping of his shoes on the pavement behind me, and I huffed out a breath of agitation.   
  
“Bethany, wait!” he called.  
  
My better judgment failed and I spun around to meet him.   “What?”  I asked, my tone clipped.   I was itching for a fight, Steve Rogers style.  My fingers were actually twitching with a desire to throw a punch right into his noble nose.  Maybe a little imperfection in that arrogant face would make him see clearer.    But Bucky’s voice was in my head, that bemused smile that followed every fight Steve and I got into, “ _Not every disagreement has to end in a fight…”_  
  
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, throwing up his hands in surrender.  
  
“You said that,” I snapped.  “Sorry is for when you step on someone’s foot, or bump into them, or make an honest mistake.  Being a pompous asshole doesn’t have an excuse.”  
  
“Come on, Beth.  Even you realize it, deep down.  You haven’t even told your parents about your unsanctioned trips across the bridge.  Now why is that?  Are you ashamed?”  
  
“Who _are_ you?”  I asked.   I didn’t feel the need to defend myself.  I had my reasons for keeping my trips to myself, and not a one of them had to do with being ashamed of the relationships I had formed while my parents were living a life separate from mine.  “Never mind.  I don’t care, Daniel.  When this project is done, _we’re_ done.”  
  
He sighed.  Deep down, I wanted that sigh to be regretful.  I wanted him to feel bad for the things that he had said, but I knew that it wasn’t that at all.  It was annoyance.  Frustration at me for being so ignorant. 

I should have known that there were ulterior motives for Daniel's interest in me.  He had been far too eager to work with me, far too sweet and accommodating; letting me direct the progression of the project so agreeably, and I had been oblivious to what had been going on right in front of me.  It was the final nail in Daniel’s coffin.  

Or so I believed.  
  
——

_Manhattan, Several weeks later_

  
  
“Miss Hale.  There is a Mr. Hoffman here to see you.”   
  
“Tell him I’m dead, Carlisle,” I told my father’s valet, without looking up from the book I was reading.  
  
“Miss Hale…” he repeated.  Of course, I knew he’d never say such a thing, but it had been worth a try.  I slammed the book closed and stood up.   I didn’t really believe in letting our servants do our dirty work anyway.    
  
“I’ll be right there.  Get a mop ready for clean up.”  
  
The man stared at me as I left the room, attempting to determine whether I had been serious.   I had been confusing the poor man for years, and I only felt a little bad for it.  
  
“Mr. Hoffman,” I said, my tone clipped and imperious as I met Daniel in the foyer.   I knew I painted a shocking picture, dressed in trousers and pigtails in the midst of all the opulence.  “I believe our acquaintance has exceeded its necessity.  What are you doing here?”  
  
“Mr. Hoffman,”  Carlisle said, stumbling into the room, attempting a smooth recovery for my manners, for the sake of my father’s reputation.  I knew that Hoffman Investments helped cushion our family’s bank account, and I didn’t care.  
  
“He’ll be leaving, Carlisle.  That will be all,” I added, when he lingered.  “Feel free to go eavesdrop somewhere.  Not here.”  
  
Daniel sighed.  “Beth…”  
  
“You’ve got thirty seconds, but only because I’m feeling generous.”  
  
His soft expression hardened, and I knew it was going to come to a fight, only not what I was expecting.   “I wanted this to be cordial, Beth.  There is a party this weekend; important investors and dignitaries.  Your parents have consented to you being my escort.”  
  
“Have they?”  I asked, raising a brow.  “In case it missed your notice, I am an adult, and…”  
  
Daniel took my allowance of thirty seconds seriously, because he moved directly for the kill.  “I don't know if you are aware, but Barnes and Rogers seem to be having some financial difficulties.   Hoffman Properties has been extremely lenient when it comes to delinquent rent.”  
  
My eyes narrowed, “Are you... seriously threatening to evict them if I don’t go to some stupid party with you?”  
  
“It’s a start.  Our families share the sentiment that a match between us would be beneficial.”  
  
“For whom, the Hale-Hoffman Empire?”  I asked, scoffing at the idea.  “I’m not consenting to an arranged match, like we’re living in the Dark Ages, Daniel.   Idle threats do not become you.”  
  
“Oh, they are not idle, ‘ _doll_ ’.”  He stepped closer to me, and as he moved into the range of a right hook, my hand twitched.  He leaned in, his smile triumphant and insufferable.  “I could destroy them.  Della, without a job.  Steve and Bucky without a home.   That cushy little job that your Brooklyn trash is so proud of?  I know some people.  You know what else I know?”  
  
“Hopefully a good dentist,” I seethe, but he continued, undeterred.  
  
“I know that you slept with him.  And maybe you’re an adult.  Maybe your parents can’t stop you from seeing James Barnes… but you can say goodbye to your Columbia degree along with his job security if I let that little secret drop. “  
  
Sure, I cared about my education, at times, perhaps, too much.   When it came down to it, it was the threat of making my friends’ lives miserable that began to destroy me from within.  I would relent, there was no other choice at that moment, but that did not stop my fist from flying into his arrogant face, stopping only when a satisfying crack echoed through the foyer.   The shock in his expression made up for the resulting pain in my knuckles.  Fighting is never as clean as it looks in the films, it often hurts as badly to land a punch as it does to receive one.  
  
I shook out my hand and smiled at him.  “I accept your gracious invitation, Mr. Hoffman.    I’d ice that,” I added with a grimace.  “It wouldn’t do for the noble Daniel Hoffman to show up to the ball looking like a common ruffian.”  
  
“I still win.”  His voice was muffled by his hand covering his face, blood seeping through his fingers.   “I will get what I want.”  
  
“We’ll see,”  I said, turning on my heel and returning to my reading.


	9. Since Always

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He needs to know the truth.  
> 

_Brooklyn,  1940_  
  
  
It was a beautiful, sunny afternoon.   Instead of playing in the streets and gossiping on the stoop, kids and adults alike were gathered around their radios listening to the Brooklyn Dodgers game.   The Dodgers were having a great season, and all of Brooklyn was in a frenzy in hopes of a pennant win this year.    
  
As I passed open windows, I could hear the announcers, the crack of the bat, the cheers and jeers of the audience, and the rattles and hums of electric fans in their vain attempts to temper the oppressive heat. 

We had a fun day planned, and as guilty as I felt, I couldn’t ruin the excitement for my friends.   The conversation I needed to have with Bucky could wait.  It was a convenient, if not selfish, excuse, disguised as ‘doing the right thing’.    
  
I was rounding the corner when strong arms looped around my waist, causing me to shriek and flail my fists in an effort to escape.   Laughter met my struggles, and my fear melted away to anger. 

“Dammit, Bucky!”  
  
“Language,”  Bucky said, chuckling against my ear as he set me back on my feet.  He twirled me around to face him, and my anger was forgotten.  How a smile could affect me like a kiss, I had no idea, but James Barnes had that power. 

“Heya, Sugarplum,” he said, pulling me scandalously close for a street corner embrace.  
  
“Heya, Brooklyn,”  I answered, smiling up at him.  “Whatcha doing here?  I thought I was headed to your place.”  
  
“You are,” he said.  “I had to grab some lunch.”  He nodded at a bag on the ground, set down for the purpose of scaring the life out of me.  “Can I escort you?  I hear this is a rough part of town for a pretty dame.”  
  
“I can handle myself,” I said, but took his arm as he offered it.   

  
  
My heart was light for being so full.  The three of us sat on the living room floor, half listening to the game as we ate too much and laughed until our sides hurt.  Stevie was the first to fall asleep that evening, curled up on a couch cushion.  If it weren’t for his loud snoring, he might have been mistaken for a child.  Or an angel, I thought, as peaceful as he looked.    
  
“What’s on your mind?”  Bucky asked me, quietly.  He was gliding his fingers through my hair as I lay on the floor, staring up on the ceiling.    
  
“The usual… schematics.  Science… “  
  
“You know, when you lie, you get this cute little line between your brows,” he told me, running a fingertip over said line.  “If it’s taking this much effort, maybe you should just tell me the truth.”  
  
I sighed heavily, and looked up at him.  I would have rather studied the shape of his lips or stared into those deep blue eyes until I fell asleep, but I knew he wasn’t letting me off that easily.   “I’d rather not.”  
  
“I know, baby,” he said, the same fingertip drawing a line down my cheek to my chin.  “But if we’re going to make this work…”  
  
We hadn’t really discussed what ‘this’ was yet.  Were we a couple?  Were we friends approaching a relationship of intimacy?  He’d never mentioned courting, let alone marriage, and it had never struck me as a possibility for our future.   I realized at that moment, as he gazed at me with unguarded affection that I _wanted_ it to be.   I railed against tradition and wanted a life and career that didn’t _have_ to include a man,  but I wanted a life that included Bucky.   No.  More than that.   I couldn’t _imagine_ a life that didn’t include him.  
  
“I’m trusting you to let me deal with this…” I began.   Of course, I knew I shouldn’t begin that way, because I could have predicted the way that he would stiffen, immediately on the defensive.  
  
“What is it?” he asked.  His soft blue eyes hardened, preparing for whatever crisis he needed to avert.  
  
“It’s not… There isn’t really anything that you can do to make it better, Buck.”  
  
“Explain.”  
  
“Okay.  There is an event coming up.  Lots of important people, fancy clothes, unpronounceable food.   My parents are insisting that I be there…”  
  
“And that happens at least twice a year.  Somehow you endure,” he said, giving me a tolerant smile.     
  
“I have an escort for this party.   It’s someone I thought of as a friend, but…”  
  
“There’s not a man in the world that would take you out and wanna call you a friend, doll,” he said.  If he was jealous, he hid it well, but the warmth didn’t return to his eyes.   “So, just say no.  Go alone.  Or take me.”  
  
“I wish I could,” I said, and took his hand.  I planted a kiss on his knuckles and held his hand tightly as he tried to pull it away.  “There is too much at stake here to defy them.”  
  
“So, why are you telling me this?   You’ve already made up your mind.”  
  
“No.  I don’t _get_ to make up my mind.   And before you get some idea in your head that I’m sweet on this guy; don’t.   He might have seemed like a friend once, but he’s only a part of the problem.   I’m going to go to this stupid party, and that is going to be that.”  
  
“If it’s that simple, then why are you so worried?”  he asked.  
  
“I don’t want to hurt you.”  
  
“You think your parents are going to press you into a relationship with this guy?’  His voice was strained, from worry and anger, and I watched his jaw tic as he clenched his teeth.  
  
“They might try,”  I said.  “And I could still say no, but saying no may have consequences that I don’t know how to deal with.”  
  
“Money?”  
  
“It’s not just money…”    
  
I should have been able to tell him about Daniel’s threats.   I should have told him that  I wouldn’t risk the welfare of my friends if there was _anything_ I could do to prevent it, but I couldn’t get the words out.  The less he knew, the less likely he would try to somehow involve himself.   I had a lot of confidence in my ability to keep everything from falling apart.  I shouldn’t have.  
  
“You know I’ll take care of you.   If you want to go to some party to keep your parents quiet, then do that… but I think you know that they’re not going to stop once you give in.”  
  
“Probably not.   But it will give me time to explore other options.”  
  
“I want to say that you can come live with me, that we’ll make it work.   Lots of people go to school without their parents money.   But it’s more than that, isn’t it?”  
  
“I’m keeping you safe.   You and Stevie.”  
  
He cursed under his breath and drove his fingers through his hair.  His instinct was to interfere; to march himself into Manhattan and knock some heads together, not because he was worried about how _he_ would get by, but because he simply did not know how to not protect the people he loved.   Letting me deal with the mess I was in alone went against everything he believed, and the pain of his restraint was a tangible force.  
  
“Promise me that you won’t … do anything permanent,” he said.   “Unless you decide it’s really want you want.”  
  
He couldn’t force himself to say ‘marriage’ but we both knew that was where his mind went.   Arranged marriages in wealthy families were certainly less common than they had been, historically, but were not unheard of, and as long as women were treated like second class citizens, or property, we were at the whim of the men who held the purse strings.  
  
“I’m not going to do anything permanent,”  I promised.  “I have school to finish, a career to make for myself…”  
  
“Of course,” he said, a bit sadly.  He bit his lip and cast his eyes down, looking as vulnerable as I had ever seen him.  
  
I sat up and took his hands, “There is no version of my future that doesn’t include you, Bucky.”  
  
His eyes swept over my face, taking in every detail to determine my sincerity.   The darkness melted from his eyes and his posture, and the line of his lips softened.   His silence spoke more clearly than if he’d shouted, and when he finally, soundlessly mouthed those three infinitely powerful words, I felt my heart would burst through my chest.    
  
“I love you too,” I whispered, thinking that the barely audible words were over-loud in the quiet room.  
  
“Since when?”    
  
“Since always.”  
  
He stood up, and I thought he was going to walk away until he scooped me up in his strong arms and cradled me to his chest.  “You have a funny way of showing it, baby.”  
  
“You have a better way?”  
  
“Yes, I do.”  
  
I shivered in his arms.   I wish that I could aptly describe the mingled sensation of love and desire, but it is an overwhelming and fleeting feeling that it is like attempting to describe a symphony to someone who can’t hear, or  the colors of a sunset to someone who had never seen.   Suffice it to say that there was nothing else in my life that mattered in the slightest; not Daniel or my parents, the concerns of my future, or Stevie’s monstrous snoring on he floor only a few feet away.     There was only the endless, passionate blue of his eyes, and the feeling that we were untouchable. 

Infallible. 

Unbreakable.  
  
“Show me,”  I whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still determining the intimacy level for this story. 
> 
> While I don't necessarily shy away from details (Read: Sex Scenes), I feel that too much often compromises the tone of a story. We'll see. Either way, I know a few of you will be thinking 'Finally, they stopped being dumb!' Yes, both of them have been so frustratingly obtuse over their feelings, and it was time. If you write, then you understand what I mean when I say that sometimes the characters just don't want to cooperate with where you want to take them.
> 
> Rough times ahead... both of them deserve a little sweetness, yes?


	10. A Beautiful Parasite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keeping her second life secret had always been her most difficult conflict...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer chapter this time. My characters weren't happy to be railroaded into the party without a few things being said first. 
> 
> I would love to know what you think of where this story is going, and your predictions. 
> 
> As always, SO many thanks for your kudos and comments!

 

_The Next Morning_

 

I had a vague notion that it would be funny later, but the morning-after trek to the kitchen and Steve’s look of shock, followed by horror and stunned silence was a little much to bear before my morning coffee.  It might have been funny at the time, if I hadn’t so worried that he was thinking less of me, and there was no appropriate way to address it.  
  
To his credit, Bucky refrained from his usual swagger, and was uncharacteristically quiet as I made breakfast.  I don’t think he was _embarrassed_ , necessarily, but he did realize that we might have scandalized our friend.  If nothing else, we had changed the dynamic of the group forever.  
  
The apartment was small, so when Bucky took a cup of coffee to Steve in the living room, I tried to pretend to not hear a word they were saying.  
  
“Bucky, what did you do?” Steve whispered.  
  
“Well, Steve…”  
  
“No, please.  Don’t tell me,” he replied, and I could hear that he had covered his face with his hands.  
  
“You asked,”  Bucky replied dryly.  “Look, don’t get so upset over it.  It’s fine.   Better than fine.”  
  
“Fine?  It’s not _fine_!”  Steve’s voice raised, and it was excruciating to ignore it, and not interject to calm him down.  “She’s… nice.  _Good_.  Not like those other girls you…”  
  
“Steve,”  Bucky said sharply, and to this day, I don’t know whether the tone was because he didn’t want me to hear about his history with other women, or because he was offended by what Steve was implying.   “I know that.  It’s _not_ like that.  This is different.”  
  
I could hear The Look.  As much as Steve idolized Bucky, he was having a hard time believing that he hadn’t taken advantage of an opportunity.  “Are you going to marry her?”  
  
“ _What_?” Bucky nearly shrieked.  It was followed by a yelp as he scalded himself with his coffee.  These boys were not making it easy on me to subtly spy on them.  I was torn between hysterical laughter and tears.  
  
I knew Bucky wasn’t ready for marriage, but hearing him protest so clearly wasn’t exactly flattering.  It sent my head spinning in ways that it shouldn’t have.  Ten minutes before, I would have been content to think of endlessly dating until we were old, but now, I couldn’t get the idea out of my head; he didn’t want to marry me.  
  
“It’s an honest question, Buck,” Steve said, calmly.  
  
“Look, Steve,”  Bucky said, returning to a whisper.  “I’m not going to….   Can we talk about this maybe another time?”  
  
“Sure.”  His tone was clipped, but at least he was willing to let it go.   Just in time to learn that while I could build robots, and work equations that baffled the common mind, my eggs were absolutely sub-standard.    I was pleased to have not burned them, but the yolks in most of them were broken, and I swore that I heard the distinct crunch of shell at one point as Bucky chewed.   Nobody’s perfect, I suppose.  
  
“This is why mother has a chef,”  I said.   The table was silent as the boys struggled for what to say.   The look they exchanged spoke volumes; there was very little they could say without concern of retribution.   Bucky cleared his throat and looked at his plate, one of his eggs overcooked, and the other underdone, and I did the only thing that I could do;  I laughed.  
  
Bucky soon joined me with his infectious laughter, warming me from the inside out.   I was convinced that there was nothing that Bucky’s joy couldn’t fix.   Steve was still thrown off by the morning’s events, but he finally smiled, acknowledging the humor of the situation. 

“Next time, I’ll make the eggs,”  Steve said, shooting me a mischievous grin.  
  
“Deal.”  
  
  
——  
  
Bucky and I had placed an unspoken moratorium on party discussion.     We understood that perfect moments were fleeting, and should be cherished, and thinking of that dreaded event would have tarnished an otherwise perfect milestone in our lives.    
  
He was sweet and unexpectedly tender, though I shouldn’t have been surprised.   I was a little shamed to realize that I had expected him to seem more… triumphant over his conquest, but every word and action showed me a side of Bucky that I hadn’t known existed.   All of his confidence and bravado, while well-deserved, was a cover for an affectionate, loving man whose generosity toward those he loved knew no bounds.   As a friend, I knew this, but on this new, emotional and intimate level, I was astounded.  
  
As we stood at the bus stop, his arm looped casually around my waist, I felt the sudden compulsion to apologize to him.  I was one of his closest friends, and I had fallen into the trap of presumption.  I had wrongly assumed so many things, and it made me feel unworthy of the love he had given so generously.  
  
“What is it, doll?” he asked, his fingertip brushing that traitorous line between my brows.  
  
“I’m sorry,” I said, quietly.  
  
“Uh, for what?” he asked, his smile fading as he tried to decide if my apology was something he truly need to worry about.  
  
“For underestimating you.   You know, I’ve spent my whole life fighting; trying to prove myself to people who want to judge me because I’m a ‘girl with a pretty face’.   And I was doing the same thing to you.”  
  
“How so?” he asked, trying to fight off a smile.   Maybe he found it amusing that I had compared him to a girl with a pretty face, it was hard to tell.  
  
“I guess I didn’t expect… “  It felt like such a betrayal, it was impossible to put it into words.   Perhaps he hadn’t seen it, and it would hurt him.  “I just assumed…”  
  
The light turned on in his eyes, and when he made the connection he could only laugh softly, shaking his head.  “You know what?”  He lead me away from the small crowd that was forming near the  bus stop, giving us some privacy.  “I haven’t exactly given you or Steve any reason to believe any differently.   I’ve dated a lot of girls.”  
  
My heart was in my throat.   It was obviously important for him to clear the air, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the details of his past relationships.  “I know.”  
  
He frowned, seeing the resolve in my eyes, but knowing the pain behind it, “ _Dated_ , baby.  Contrary to popular opinion, I don’t actually sleep with all the girls I go out with.  Hardly any of them,” he added in a whisper.     
  
“Then why…”  
  
He sighed, removing his hat and slipping his fingers through his hair, making a mess of it.    That’s what he was in that moment; a beautiful, adorable mess.  “I don’t know.  Maybe because they wouldn’t expect anything if I didn’t give them anything to expect?”  
  
“And you didn’t want a girlfriend?” I asked, finding the idea contrary to what I already knew.    
  
“Oh, sure I did.  I was definitely looking for something.  But — uh,” he said, glancing toward the street as his discomfort grew.   Being sweet and attentive was one thing, baring his soul was another thing entirely.   Taking back words was like trying to call a bullet back to a gun.   He reached his hand out to me, brushing his fingertips along my cheek.   “I already had it.   I just didn’t know it.    No, that’s wrong.   I knew.   I didn’t think I was… worthy.”  
  
Of all the things he could have said to me, I think that hurt the worst.   It was the most horrible lie he could have told himself, and I wanted to shake him senseless.   Oh, and kiss him.   I desperately wanted to kiss him until he knew beyond all doubt that he was more than worthy.   He was amazing.   Everything.  
  
“Please tell me that I never did or said anything to make you feel unworthy,” I whispered.    My bus had pulled up and departed, and I would be hours late getting home, but I couldn’t walk away.  
  
“What? No.  Never,” he confirmed, pulling me into his arms.   I’m sure that people were staring as they passed, seeing a young couple in the street openly embracing, but we may as well have been alone.   “A part of me always knew that you didn’t see me as less than you, but you know I can never give you the things that you have now.   I do okay for myself, but I would never ask you to walk away from Manhattan to live in a tiny apart—“  
  
“Okay, stop right there,” I said, pulling back enough to look into his eyes.   My expression must have been fierce, because his eyebrows shot up in surprise, and a healthy bit of fear.  “Of all people, you should know that life never made me happy.  The happiest times of my life have been right here.”  
  
“Yet, you still go back,” he said, his blue eyes sad with the belief that I would leave, again and again.  
  
“If my father is willing to fund my education as long as I live there, I’m going to let him do that.   It’s the very least he can do,”  I said.  “When I graduate…”  
  
“Okay, okay,” he said, pulling me to him again, kissing the top of my head.  “We don’t need to go worrying about the future right now.   I guess we both were making too many assumptions.”  
  
“We’re such jerks,”  I muttered against his chest, and then grinned when I felt it rumble with his laughter.  
  
“Yeah, we are.    I love you,” he said, squeezing me gently against him.   “Even if you are an uppity dame from Manhattan.”  
  
We sat on the bench, holding hands, waiting for the next bus.   I couldn’t worry about the fact that I would have to explain my whereabouts if my parents were home before me, or about the dreaded party, or how our future would play out, and it was probably for the best that I didn’t.  

Nothing could have prepared me for the reality of it, and if I had known at that moment, I might have walked away.

  
——

  
The Party  
Manhattan, Several Days Later  
  
  
My dress was the most beautiful assembly of golden silk, lace and beading I had ever laid eyes upon.   It was also itchy, abrasive and unfit for human attire.  Not only did I need to wear this horrible confection of fabric, I needed to smile while doing so.   In heels.     Don’t get me started with corsets.   Instruments of the devil.    
  
I hoped that Daniel wasn’t much of a dancer, but I imagine that I would have wished for that, no matter what I was wearing.  

As the time for my appearance drew closer, a greater feeling of dread settled over me that was disproportionate to the simple inconvenience of the party.     A dark cloud had settled over me, and while I wished that I could have written it off as melodrama on my part, I knew that it was more than my resistance to Daniel and my parents forcing my compliance.  
  
I touched up my lipstick and powdered my nose one last time, stalling the inevitable before leaving my dressing room.   It was only a few hours to endure.  Nothing was going to happen.   It would be over soon, and I could go back to business as usual.  
  
I had to admit, however reluctantly, that Daniel looked handsome.  The devil horns and pitchfork might have thrown the look off a bit, and the smile I gave him as I descended was entirely derived from that imagining.   I even threw in a dastardly mustache and cloven hooves, for the sake of my own entertainment.  
  
“You look ravishing,”  he said, reaching out his hand to me.    “An angel.”  
  
I took it as I negotiated the last few stairs, too proud of myself for making it to the floor without tripping over the hem of my dress to worry about feeling unnecessary guilt.   “Thank you,” I said.   I could  — and would — be pleasant, as long as he chose to be, and I’d get through this night unscathed.   I just needed to keep telling myself that.  
  
The first couple of hours passed without event.  I was lead around the room, shown off to the important people that Daniel wanted to impress.  Introduced as his ‘lady friend’ as I gritted my teeth into a gracious smile.   He didn’t ask me to dance, and suddenly I focused on a light at the end of the tunnel.   So focused that I nearly tripped over a man standing in our path.  
  
“Oh, sorry!” I said, genuinely apologetic.    
  
The man was short in stature with thick glasses and a weasel-like smile that ran a shiver down my spine.   “No need to apologize, my dear,” the man said, his voice thickly accented.  “It is all so overwhelming, isn’t it?  All this opulence?  You were born to it, but… I sense you do not really belong here.”    
  
“I beg your pardon?”  I asked.  No, he was not far from the truth, but that this stranger knew this much about me was as upsetting as his sinister aura.  
  
“Oh, good,” Daniel said, brightening when he finally took notice.    “Bethany, I want you to meet an associate of my father’s and someone you might enjoy conversing with.   This is Dr. Arnim Zola.  He is a genius, my dear.   A biochemist.   Quite well renowned in Germany.”  
  
Zola’s eyes shot to Daniel, a smile still on his lips though his eyes were filled with malice.  “I am Swiss, Mr. Hoffman.  An understandable and common American mistake.”    
  
“Of course,” Daniel answered.  Wide eyes and a heavy swallow, as Daniel tugged at his collar, proved just how afraid I should have been.   There was definitely something not right about this man.  
  
“Biochemistry.  That is fascinating, Dr. Zola.”   As a scientist, I should have asked about his projects, but every ounce of my being was pulling me as far away from this conversation as I could get.  
  
“I hear that you are an Engineering student at Columbia,” Zola said, proving that he was far more versed in knowledge of me than a stranger should have been.   “That is quite impressive.”  
  
Daniel struggled to regain his footing in the conversation as beads of sweat broke out over his brow.  “She’s a genius, really,” he said, quickly.  Funny, he had never taken an interest in my work before.  “She has these wonderful designs.  Uh, robots, dear?”  
  
I frowned.  My grasp on the situation was tenuous to begin with, and with each word, I was losing my hold entirely.  “Something like that.  My instructors find them… fanciful.”  Yes, after all my years of fighting to be taken seriously, I was actually pretending that my work was nothing but a frivolous, girly notion.   Anything to kill this man’s interest in me or my work.  
  
“Oh, I doubt that.   I am sure that you can do _great_ things.   Even the 'fanciful' work of a woman could change the world,” he said.  His beady eyes regarded me, while his lips curled up in condescending amusement.   “I would very much like to see these designs of yours.   One never knows how they might change the future of a fellow scientist.”  
  
“Perhaps, one day,” I said, hoping my smile was polite and unaffected.   “If you will excuse me a moment, gentlemen?  I see some guests that I must say hello to.”  
  
Daniel appeared as if he were inclined to refuse, but officially, he had no right to do so, not when I was being oh-so polite and gracious.   “Of course, darling,” he said.  
  
“Darling,” I muttered to myself as I moved away, at first slowly, and then more quickly as I wove my way through the crowd.   My heart was racing, and a thin sheen of sweat had bloomed over my skin.   The sensation of impending doom had grown from the moment I had met Zola.   The air in the room was heavy and hot and increasingly unbreathable.    The French doors leading to the patio were a mile away, and as the room spun, I lost hope of reaching them before I collapsed.  
  
I narrowly escaped the concern of a party-goer, with a tight smile and a quick “I’m fine”,  before I was able to push through the doors, letting the cool night air slap me back into reality.   It was all behind me; the party, the music, the insufferable people and Zola, who made Daniel look like an eager puppy in comparison.   

“Breathe,” I whispered to myself, cursing the tight lacing on my corset as I leaned against the terrace railing.     
  
The world began to come back into focus, and precious air filled my lungs, just as I felt a hand on my arm.   If I hadn’t immediately recognize its warmth, accompanied by the familiar pleasant notes of Bucky’s aftershave, I might have died on the spot.  

“Jesus Christ, Bucky!” I whispered, pinning him with a vicious glare, my hand over my heart as I struggled to breathe again.   “Goddamn it.  What the hell are you doing here?”  
  
“Somewhere in a tiny apartment, in a borough across the bridge, a small man with fragile sensibilities is wheezing in protest at your language, young lady,”  he drawled, seemingly not at all concerned that he might be caught.  At best, he would be thrown out, at worst… I couldn’t think about it.  
  
“What are you doing here?” I asked, my eyes moving from him to the door and back again, as if I expected the hounds of hell, or something equally dramatic.  
  
“Okay,” he said, his smirk fading, transforming into genuine concern.  And anger.  “What happened?  Did he do something?”   He was poised to barge into a party full of people who were fully capable of making his life hell, and if I hadn’t been so terrified of what it would mean, I might have been charmed by it.  
  
“No.   Just.  This dress.  It’s hot in there.   You startled me.”  
  
“And you’re lying,”  he replied with a mirthless smile.   “I could kidnap you…”  
  
“Don’t even joke about that, Buck.   You  know what my parents would do…”  
  
“Yeah, and if you need to be taken out of here, I’ll risk it.”  
  
“You need to go,” I said, more gently, placing my hand on his arm.   He was wearing his best suit, which, for all its modest appearance, looked better than any of the expensive tuxedos inside.   He didn’t plan on infiltrating the party, but when viewed from inside the house, he would arouse much less suspicion if he wasn’t dressed in street clothes.   “You look… so handsome.”  I hated a life that wouldn’t allow me to show him off to the world.  A life that didn’t allow me to acknowledge how fortunate I was to be his best girl.  
  
“I’m not leaving until this is over,” he said, firmly, but lightly tugged on a tendril of hair that had escaped my intricate up-do.  “Until you are out of this, admittedly gorgeous, but overpriced, get up, and tucked safely into your bed.”   He leaned forward and brushed his lips against my forehead.  “And you can’t make me.”  
  
“I can’t make you do anything.”  
  
“I don’t know about that.  There are some things… “   He smirked.  
  
“Bucky.  Seriously.  If you’re caught here, it will be much more difficult for me to see you.  And that’s the best case scenario.   I can deal with this alone.”  
  
“But you don’t have to,” he whispered, looking down at me.  “You never have to.”  
  
I forgot about Zola for a blissful, heart wrenching moment, as Bucky’s lips descended to meet mine.   Warmth began where our lips met, and traveled over my skin, pushing away the chill of the evening breeze.  He lingered with his lips a breath from mine, his hands traveling softly down my arms, fingertips grazing my hands.   And then he stepped back, that sly smile curling his lips before he turned and walked back into the night.     
  
I knew he was true to his word.  He would be there waiting until the party was over, or at least until Daniel was gone.   I could feel him there, keeping watch; my guardian angel.   But as I stood there, looking out into the night, trying to decide if he might be hiding, I felt something else.     
  
As if cold tentacles were closing around my throat.


	11. A Date Which Will Live in Infamy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They had always accepted what she needed to do, but how could she learn do the same for them when so much was on the line?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a little while. Sorry for that! It was an important and emotional transition, and I wanted to give it the time it deserved. I hope you enjoy it!

And our lives fell into a pleasant routine.  Or as much of a routine as we could achieve with my unpredictable schedule.   I spent as many weekends as I was able to in Brooklyn, staying at Bucky’s instead of Della’s.  She made it clear that she didn’t approve, but she also didn’t judge.  No one was more aware of the situation I was in, and to her credit, she made an effort to be understanding.  
  
Bucky went out of his way to prove to me — and to Steve — that while he might not have been ready to get hitched, he was in it for the long haul.  If I had been inclined to worry about him seeing other girls while buried in my books, I could have been assured that Steve’s eagle eyes would have made note of the slightest of flirtations.  I trusted Bucky implicitly, but the knowledge that Steve had my back, even when it came to his best friend, was worth more to me than just about anything.  
  
Graduation was on the horizon, and for the most part, aside from some random flower deliveries, and requests to come calling that I evaded, Daniel had left me alone.  

There was a light at the end of the tunnel.  
  
I want to say that the events that followed came without warning, but we ignored the signs, and pushed on toward that light.   
  
And then, on December 7, 1941, that light went out.  
  
  
  
  
 _December 8, 1941_  
 _Brooklyn, NY_  
  
  
  ** _“Yesterday, Dec. 7, 1941 - a date which will live in infamy - the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan.”_**  
  
The president’s voice continued to resound in my brain as I made my way across town.   I couldn’t get ahold of Bucky or Steve by phone, nor could I wait for the weekend to be close to them.    I held to my heart the assertion that it would all be over ‘soon’, believing that it wouldn’t touch us, that the men in my life wouldn’t be dragged into the danger of war.  
  
 ** _“The attack yesterday on the Hawaiian islands has caused severe damage to American naval and military forces. Very many American lives have been lost.”_**  
  
I focused on breathing, as I grew lightheaded, thinking of the families of those soldiers who never saw it coming.  
  
 ** _“Hostilities exist. There is no blinking at the fact that that our people, our territory and our interests are in grave danger.”_**  
  
I knew that we would no longer be able to stay out of the conflict.  They had dragged us in, and soon, the men would be lining up for the duty and honor to avenge their country.   _Just not them, please God, not them_.   Breathe.  
  
 ** _“I ask that the Congress declare that since the unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, Dec. 7, a state of war has existed between the United States and the Japanese empire.”_**

  
I was running from the moment I reached their neighborhood, ignoring the stares of the people around me.  My eyes were red and mascara stained tears streaked my face.  In my rush to catch the first bus, I had thrown on the first presentable outfit, and most comfortable shoes I could find,  and as a result my clothing was disheveled and somewhat mismatched.  

  
I was shivering when I reached Steve’s door, the sweat freezing on my skin in the crisp December wind.  Why hadn’t I brought a coat?   And mittens.  My fingers were blue as I knocked on the door, opening it before Steve could answer.

  
“Beth.”  Steve looked up from where he sat near the radio, that grim look that I had grown accustomed to seeing on his face.  “You heard?”  And then, “God, where’s your coat?”

  
“Where’s Bucky?”  I looked around the room, as if he might have been hiding somewhere in plain sight.  “Work?”  My tone was both hopeful and fearful at the same time.  I  knew he wasn’t at work.  I could see it written on Steve’s face.

  
“He left me a note… I was about to…”

  
I snatched the crumpled paper in his hand, denial in the whimper that left my lips as I read his carefully penned message.   “This isn’t… he can’t… He _wouldn_ ’t…”

  
“You think not?”  Steve’s lips curled up into a sad little smile.  

  
“You were about to what?”  Fresh tears were streaming down my face.  I knew the answer.  I knew what this was all coming to.   On the one hand, I wanted to lock them away and protect them.  I wanted them to hide from this.  On the other, I knew these men too well to believe that they wouldn’t enlist to fight.  

  
“Hey.”  Steve stood and moved over to me, resting an arm on my shoulder.   I didn’t realize I was softly sobbing, clutching that letter to my chest, until he told me not to cry.  “It may be over long before either of us can get there.”

  
“Do you believe that?”  My voice was choked and broke on each word, but he understood my meaning well enough.  

  
“I don’t know.  I can’t lie to you.  This looks bad.”

  
“I really wish you could lie.   And I wish that he would have talked to me before…”

  
“It wouldn’t have changed his mind.  He’ll be back before he leaves for training.  They’re not going to take him away tonight, you know.”

  
 _Away_.  Where would they take him to?  Wherever it was, it would be so much farther away than that trip across the bridge that I loved to complain about.   “Steve.  I’ll be done with school in just a few months.  We were going to…”

  
“I know.  And maybe you still will.  You know Buck.  He doesn’t go back on his promises.”

  
I smiled and nodded because I didn’t want the discussion.  There _hadn_ ’t been any promises, because of the very fact that he would never vow something that he wasn’t completely sure of, and despite how I had assured him that I didn’t care about money, he still clung to the idea that I deserved better.  I was convinced that I could persuade him before I graduated.  I was certain there would be a ring on my finger by Summer.    He wouldn’t be shipped out immediately, but he would be gone for months, and every day would bring the worry of a possible deployment.  It could be weeks.  Months.  _Years_.

  
“I’ll make you some tea.”  

  
I nodded, unfolding the note to read it again as a news reporter droned on the radio.  It went back and forth between the grim losses, followed by the cheerful patriotic voice imploring all able bodied men to stand up and fight for their country.  

  
 _Steve,_  
 _I’m off to the recruitment center.  May as well volunteer before my number comes up.  At least I won’t have to sit around and worry about a draft notice, right?_  
 _I’ll be home soon.  We’ll catch a movie.  Don’t do anything stupid._  
 _B._  
  
“Don’t do anything stupid.”  I repeated the words as I dropped the note on the kitchen table, watching Steve methodically dip the tea strainer in the cup.

  
“He doesn’t want me to enlist.”

  
“You’re not seriously thinking of enlisting…Steve…”  
  
It was an argument we would have countless times, and with each go-round it would intensify, but at that moment, I was content that he would be rejected based on his health, and I would have nothing to worry about.   When would I realize that my assumptions always turned out the exact opposite of how I anticipated?  

 

 

_That Evening_

  
  
“Camp McCoy.”

  
I had never seen Bucky so contrite.  Perhaps because I had yelled at him until I had lost my voice.  Cried and pleaded despite the inevitable outcome.  He’d already signed the papers.  In two weeks, he would be off for training.  Right before Christmas.  After that…

  
“Where is Camp McCoy?”

  
“Um… Wisconsin.”  His voice was so low, that if I hadn’t been leaning in as close as I could without actually touching him, I would never have heard it.

  
“Wisconsin!”  

  
He lowered his head.  His posture, expression, the look in his eyes: defeated.  “Beth.  I know you hate it.  I’m not going to try to convince you to like it, but you need to accept it, because it’s what I need to do.”

  
“Accept it?  How am I supposed to accept it?  How?”

  
“The way that I accepted that I would have to wait for you to finish college, chase your dream, and hope that you still wanted me at the end of the line.”

  
“ _Bucky_ …”  I was, at first, surprised.  Then hurt.  And then, of course, angry.   “College is not the same as going to war to get shot at, James.  I’ve been just across the bridge all this time.  I see you every weekend.  Mostly.”

  
“I’m not saying that going to war is the same as going to college.  I’m saying that I accepted that it was what you needed to do, even when I wanted things to be different.  That’s what you do when you love someone, doll.”

  
“But…”

  
“It’s lousy and it hurts, and believe me, I had other plans for my future — _our_ future — but we gotta roll with the punches, doll.  When we get up, we brush ourselves off and keep fighting.”   He took my hand, lifted it to his lips.  “Tell me  you’ll still be here when I get back.”

  
“When will you be back?”  My voice cracked, and more traitorous tears slipped past my lashes unchecked.

  
“I’ll never lie to you.  I don’t know.  But I need to know you’ll be here, whenever it is.”

  
“What choice do I have?”

  
“You always have a choice.”  He lifted my chin with his fingertips.  Looked into my eyes.   His own were cool, bright blue, even in the dim light given off by the street lamps.  He wouldn’t cry; I’d only seen evidence of tears once in our lives, but he wore his sorrow in the depths of his eyes just as surely as if he had fallen apart in my arms.  “If you don’t want to wait, tell me now…  I don’t want to be that guy who gets a letter in the trenches…”

  
“No, no.”  I cradled his face in my hands.  Closed my eyes.  Steeled myself against the uncertainties of the future.  “I will always wait for you.”

  
His warm lips pressed against my forehead, the top of my cheek, the tip of my nose.  “I will come home to you.”

  
“Promise me.”

  
He sighed.  It was a horrible thing to ask of him.  He had so little control over the future, except to promise to be brave, promise to be strong, promise to be careful.  He couldn’t promise to come home.  _Shouldn_ ’t.

  
“Look at me.”  The resolve in his voice forced my eyes open.  “I will do everything in my power to come home.”

  
“In one piece.”

  
He lowered his eyes and chuckled, shaking his head.  “In one piece.”

  
I curled against him, resting my head on his shoulder, listening to him breathe.  

  
“Look after Steve?”

  
“Yes.”   Our voices were bare, tired whispers.

  
“He’s going to try to enlist.”

  
“I know.”

  
“He’s going to be sore that they reject him.”

  
“I know.”

  
“Promise me that you two won’t do anything stupid while I’m away.”

  
I grinned, and I knew he felt the movement of my lips against his shoulder when he squeeze me gently and chuckled.   “I’m more terrified of what you two are going to get into than going to war.”

  
“We’ll behave.”

  
“No.  No, you won’t…”    
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> History note, regarding the italicized bits of Franklin D. Roosevelt's speech following the bombing of Pearl Harbor: I have only used bits of the speech in this chapter; the segments which stood out in Beth's mind as she traveled frantically from her home to Brooklyn.
> 
> For the full text of the speech, as well as a detailed explanation of the bombing of Pearl Harbor, which drew the United States into World War II, you can go here: http://www.digitalhistory.uh.edu/disp_textbook.cfm?smtID=3&psid=1082
> 
> Though I have done a fair bit of research, I do not claim to be an expert on the events of World War II. This is a work of fiction, and some events can, and will, be altered as the war unfolds. Also, so you won't be surprised, from this point on, there will be a lot of deviations from the original story line. I'm sure you've all seen the movies and don't need me to rewrite them for you. ;) 
> 
> Enjoy! And let me know if you have any questions or comments!


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